Sins of the flesh are nothing. They are maladies for physicians to cure, if they should be cured. Sins of the soul alone are shameful.

Indeed I have always been of the opinion that hard work is simply the refuge of people who have nothing to do.

Wisdom comes with winters

Through our sunless lanes creeps Poverty with her hungry eyes, and Sin with his sodden face follows close behind her. Misery wakes us in the morning and Shame sits with us at night.

Art only begins where Imitation ends.

The basis of optimism is sheer terror.

I never change, except in my affections.